


Sleigh Ride

by MickyRC



Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: It's a little weird, Crowley thinks, this whole holidays-with-loved-ones thing.  He's not sure he minds, though.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559308
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Sleigh Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 of my Star of Wonder advent calendar, in which each day's fic is inspired by a song from my favorite Christmas album, The Roches' _We Three Kings._ It's also going up on tumblr [over here!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/micky-r-c)

There are bells in the air.

He tucks his gloved hand into his pocket, taking Aziraphale’s with him. The angel gives him a look, but doesn’t pull his hand back. The snow’s coming down faster now, coating the grass and starting to pile up on the banks of the lake. The paths are decently clear, and it’s not wet enough for ice, so they haven’t had a problem going for their usual stroll. Not that they would have, anyway; miracles, and all that. There aren’t many people out yet, not while it’s still coming down like this, but some brave soul with some friends and a set of jingle bells has set up over near the playground, and even if the carols are a bit off-key and they mixed up the verses of “What Child is This,” it’s kind of nice, as background music goes. He’d take a lot worse, assuming he could still have this angel’s hand in his pocket.

There are bells in the air.

He’s curled up on the couch, half on top of Aziraphale, thick fingers running through his hair and a hot mug clutched against his chest. His face is burning, a little, from the cold outside, and Aziraphale looks more like a cherub than ever, his cheeks are so rosy. But there’s a blanket over their laps and another around their shoulders, and their wet scarves and hats and gloves are steaming on the radiator in the corner. He shifts a little, burrowing into Aziraphale’s side, and finds that angle where they fit together like puzzle pieces. Where his head rests on the angel’s chest and his shoulder is tucked neatly under his arm. Where they could sit comfortably for eternity, and never want to be anywhere else.

There are bells in the air.

It’s a risky move, and he knows it, but he’s decided he doesn’t care. If they’re driving all the way to Tadfield this time of year, he’s bringing Christmas music along. He’ll just have to remember to take the cassettes out when they get there. It’s worth it to hear Aziraphale humming along, the way he taps his fingers against his leg in time with the sleigh bells on the recording. _Let’s take that road, dear,_ he says, even though he knows that’s not the way. _It looks so pretty in the snow. We’ve plenty of time, let’s just drive for a while._ He’s happy to. It does look pretty in the snow. And a few extra miles means a few extra choruses.

There are bells in the air.

He’s not entirely sure why they’re there, sitting in Shadwell and Tracy’s sitting room, but he’s not going to complain. The day’s been… well, perfect is such an understatement it doesn’t even deserve consideration. There’s holiday music playing, not the more classical stuff Aziraphale picks or the pop hits he usually goes for, but something in between, those songs that were once popular and new that have mellowed and become classics with the passing years. He can hear the kids running around the kitchen, supposedly helping Anathema make cookies, but he’s pretty sure they’re just teaming up to rig Newt’s seat with a whoopee cushion. It’s weird, being here, invited to share somebody else’s holiday, but Tracy had insisted, and Aziraphale had said yes, of course they would come, and that was that. He’s not sure that he minds. The fireside is warm, and there’s a wonderfully sweet smell coming from the kitchen. And, well, there’s a hand in his. That helps, too.

There are bells in the air.

It’s getting late, and the Them have been picked up and taken home by their parents, and the conversation in the sitting room has died down a bit. The music is still playing, gentle voices telling them to have a merry little Christmas, and he thinks he will. It sounds nice. Aziraphale pats his hand and stands up, and he’s surprised to find he doesn’t feel awkward staying behind. He can stay and talk to Anathema, or even just listen to Shadwell’s outlandish stories, and not worry about his angel coming back. Because he does, of course, carrying a coffee pot and a tray of mismatched mugs, and Tracy follows behind with a steaming pan that smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice. It’s wonderful. Weirdly perfect, yeah, but nice anyway. Something he doesn’t want to forget.

There are bells in the air.

The drive home is longer than the drive out, as drives home always are. They don’t turn the cassette player on this time, or the radio. The night’s too pretty; adding music would just be too much. They don’t really talk, either. He doesn’t mind. He’s feeling pleasantly worn out by the afternoon’s socializing. And with Aziraphale, it doesn’t matter if he wants to talk or not. It doesn’t change anything. The snow stopped hours ago, but the moonlight hits the fields and little strips of trees in just the right way to make the whole world glow silvery white. It’s beautiful. Perfect. _Lovely._ He turns, and Aziraphale is looking at him, an easy smile painting his face with shadow and cool blue light from the snow. He turns back to the road, wearing an equal smile of his own. He reaches out and finds Aziraphale’s hand, right there. There is more warmth in that one pair of hands than any fireplace could hope to replicate. The night is quiet and still and calm.

There are bells in the air.


End file.
